Tales from the Guild Bar
by DezoPenguin
Summary: A collection of my comedy shorts featuring Alys Brangwin and Joss Howland, both new and those previously posted elsewhere.
1. Preface

**Preface**

_As most of you who are reading this already know, I've been writing comedy shorts featuring my favorite _Phantasy Star _character, Alys Brangwin, and her encounters with OC hunter Joss Howland since 2000. Only since 2007, though, have I been posting those stories here at fanfiction-dot-net , so only the most recent stories have been posted here._

_Meanwhile, when I've been writing such stories for other fandoms, I've collected them in single-story collections, rather than posting each as its own story—"Vivio's Happy Family Magical Theater," "Duran and Kiyohime's Omake Theater," "The Omake of the Godless Month," and "The Tome of Eldritch Omake." This seems to me to be a better way to organize these short-shorts and drabbles, which often don't rise even to 1,000 words in length. I wish I'd done it from the start. But, at least I can learn from my mistakes! So from now on, all of the Alys and Joss stories will be collected here in the "Tales from the Guild Bar." As an added bonus, every time I post my newest chapter here, I'll also add several of my older Alys & Joss stories, the ones that were never posted at before, for the benefit of those of you who never got the chance to see them (or for those who did, but would like to revisit them)._

_Enjoy!_


	2. Reputations

_A/N: This story was the first time Alys met Joss. As you can see, their interaction did not quite start the way it ended up...but the conclusion of the tale is pretty much where they all finish._

~X X X~

"Alys Brangwin! I'm calling you out!"

Even in the Hunters' Guild bar, where loud talk and louder bluster was the rule, a declaration like that couldn't fail to catch everyone's attention. Especially when it was bellowed at the top of a man's voice.

Conversation fell to a sudden hush as everyone's attention turned towards the door.

The man was big, broad-shouldered and powerful, with close-cropped purple hair and a bushy mustache. He wore traveling leathers that looked as if they'd been recently purchased, and a broad-bladed sword hung from his waist. His face was red with fury, as if he'd spent some time working himself into a good rage, and his hands opened and closed spasmodically.

"Come on, Alys! I know you're in here!"

A beautiful, brown-haired woman in a red dress turned on her bar stool.

"You ought to, since I'm sitting eight feet from you," she said dourly.

"Oh, yeah?" the man sneered. "Well, Miss Big-Shot Eight-Stroke-Warrior, I'm saying you're a cheat, a coward, and a backstabber. So what're you going to do about it?"

People shrank back in their seats, putting as much distance between themselves and the two of them as possible. Garn, the bar's manager, wondered if that furniture sale was still going on at the Aiedo Marketplace.

"I'm going to finish my drink and wait for you to say something sensible."

"What! Ain't you man enough to stick up for your reputation?"

"I'm not a man at all," she pointed out. "Just like you, in fact." Alys sighed and turned back to her drink.

_"Wha'd you say?"_ the man bellowed, foam flecking his lips. "I'm Joss Howland, the toughest fighter in all Motavia, and I'll kick anyone's backside who says different!"

"Yeah. Right. Whatever."

Deciding that Joss wasn't going to go away his own, Alys reached into her pocket and took out a one-meseta coin.

"Call it."

"Huh?" was Howland's brilliant response.

"Call it. I don't have time to play my-daddy-can-beat-up-your-daddy right now, so if you win, you can be the toughest kid on the block, the king of the hill, or whatever they're calling it in _Thrilling Stories of the Motavian West_ these days."

Before he had time to work his brain around a reply, Alys snapped the coin upwards with a flick of her thumb. Joss' eyes followed the glittering meseta as it spun upwards towards the ceiling.

He was too busy watching it to see Alys' fist slam into his face, the blow knocking him flat on his back and into slumberland. The tension evaporated from the room, and the patrons went back to their talking and drinking.

"Garn," Alys asked, "why do I always get all the idiots?"


	3. Pickup Line

_A/N: Joss's antagonism quickly changed to admiration, as you can see here. Unfortunately, that probably made him _less_ easy to handle for Alys. After all, when a man challenges you to a fight, it's acceptable to beat the crawler dung out of him. Mind you, it didn't seem to have any effect on the end results of Joss's attempts...Technically, this story probably takes place well along in the continuity, because it mentions Chaz and Alys didn't get her apprentice until a few years before PSIV. _

~X X X~

Garn, bartender at the Hunters' Guild, was having a bad day. His best fan-dancer was getting married, which, she had informed him, also heralded the beginning of a new career for her, one in which she would be leaving her clothes _on_. Then, Garn's brewer in Mile had sent word that he'd be unable to meet the bar's beer needs due to the drought. The bartender had, however, been able to collar the salesman who'd suckered him into buying a new wood polish.

"I just used your stuff to put a finish on the bar, and now I find out that it melts on contact with alcohol!"

Alys Brangwin, the Guild's most famous and accomplished hunter, was also having a bad day down at the other end of the bar. Her trouble, though, had begun somewhat more recently.

"C'mon, Alys. How can you say no to a stud like me?"

"A lot easier than you can get it through your skull, Joss," she snapped. Joss Howland was a good-looking piece of prime beefcake, which was the only attractive feature he had. He was rude, a braggart, a loudmouth, and his brain power made Alys' apprentice look like an academy scholar by comparison.

"Hey, I know you've gotta play hard-to-get for your reputation's sake, but it's not like I'm some guy off the street. I'm a hunter, too, one of the toughest in the business."

Alys sighed. She didn't like to fend off overeager men with violence; Garn always made her pay for the furniture.

"Okay, Joss. I'll give you a chance to prove your manliness. If you succeed, I'll go out with you."

She picked up his empty beer mug, flipped it over, and pressed her hand down hard on the bottom.

"Bring it on! What've I got to do?"

"Something you've got plenty of experience at. Just pick up this mug."

"Huh?"

"Pick up this mug," Alys repeated, tapping the base in case words of one syllable were too long for him.

Joss chuckled.

"Oh, I get it. You're flirting with me!" He curled his big hand around the mug, and pulled.

And pulled.

And pulled.

Joss stared at the mug in disbelief.

"Sorry. Guess you just aren't tough enough," Alys said with a shrug. Predictably, Joss' eyes bulged, he gritted his teeth, and he yanked upwards with more force, grunting with the effort. Alys got down off her bar stool and headed for the door, but didn't move fast enough to get out before the tinkle of breaking glass and a yelp of pain reached her ears.

Alys winced. Stupidity could hurt.

"Hey, what's the big deal?" the salesman told Garn. "Sure, it goes a little soft, but after a couple of seconds it hardens back up, stronger than steel!"


	4. Falling For You

"Garn," Alys Brangwin told the bartender as he brought her a foaming mug of Zema's Best, "there are no good men these days."

"Now, Alys, that's a little harsh, don't you think?"

It was perhaps unfortunate for Garn that Joss Howland chose that moment to stroll into the bar. Joss was big and handsome, a well-muscled slab of beefcake whose looks regularly attracted a crowd of women. That crowd usually thinned out considerably when he opened his mouth.

"Witness Exhibit A," Alys noted.

Howland spotted her at the bar at once and strolled over in her direction.

"Hey, Garn! A double Nafoi for me and give the lady another of whatever she's drinking."

"Joss, I haven't started this one yet," Alys pointed out. "Though if you're going to stick around, I just might need the extra drink."

Alys wasn't sure if the insult hadn't penetrated Howland's dim wit or had just bounced off the armor of his immense ego, but it definitely didn't slow him down.

"So, Alys, tired of playing hard-to-get?"

"Who's playing?" grumbled Motavia's most celebrated hunter.

"See, there's even an open seat next to you. It's got to be fate. We're destined to be together."

He hopped up onto the stool. Garn came back with Howland's Nafoi, so named because it was served flaming.

"Here you are. Hey, Joss, I wouldn't—"

"Yo, Garn," Howland interrupted, "you're a good bartender, but beat it, okay? I'm trying to talk to Alys, here."

"Yes, but—"

"Hey, don't make me repeat myself."

Garn shrugged. "Suit yourself"

"Now, Alys, as I was saying..."

"Don't let your drink burn out."

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Howland picked up his cup, blew out the flames, and threw the drink back in one "manly" swig. Unfortunately for him, the sudden jerking motion caused the seat to slide right off its stand, spilling Joss onto the very hard floor.

"Hey, Garn!" yelled one of the patrons. "Aren't you ever going to fix that stool?"

Alys looked down at the stunned hunter.

"It's got to be fate," she said. "You're destined to fall short."


	5. You Set My Heart Ablaze

"Here you go, Alys. The crawler steak for you, and an order of grilled ammonite in _makreth_-nut sauce. Don't get a lot of call for that, I'll tell you, so I hope I did it right," Garn said as he set down the plates on the table. The owner of the Hunter's Guild bar made most of his money on the liquor trade, but he also took professional pride in the quality of the food he served.

"Probably not," Alys Brangwin said bluntly, "but it wouldn't be your fault. Hysk says it's hard for Parmanians to get things just right when our senses don't work the same."

"Still, if he can give me any tips as to how I can improve the dish, have him stop over and let me know."

"I'll tell him you asked," Alys said. "He'll appreciate it."

Garn wandered off to deal with his next customer and Alys leaned back to wait. In her younger days, after Galf's death, when she'd traveled with Hysk as partners, she'd been a lot more impatient. Now, an unspecified number of years older and hopefully wiser, she was content to lean back and wait in silence.

"So, it looks like you've been stood up, Alys, babe."

_Yes, silence would have been blissful_, she thought.

The speaker was Joss Howland, a fellow hunter who was a big hunk of beefcake impaired by an equally bovine brain. Dogged persistance was one of his best attributes, which Alys would have appreciated more if the subject of his persistence hadn't been his crush on her.

"Yes, I'm waiting for a friend, and no, I haven't been stood up. He's finishing up at the Guild offices."

"C'mon, Alys," Joss said, dropping into the chair opposite her. "You don't need to make excuses for this jerk. You know that if I had a date with you, I'd be right on time no matter what. Hey," he added as if the thought had just struck him, "I know! I'll fill in with you so you don't need to be stuck here eating alone."

"You don't listen too well, do you?" Alys observed. "On the one hand, I just told you that my friend is meeting me here, and I ordered first so we didn't have to wait another hour for the sauce to distill. On the other hand, a date with you is not an improvement on being alone."

"Aw, c'mon, Alys, you don't need to act like it doesn't bug you. Your friends don't care if you show a softer side."

"I'd be tempted by your concern if you had any clue what you were talking about and—hey, don't do that!"

Her warning came too late, though. Apparently so convinced by his own fantasy that he'd decided he was eating with her, Joss picked up Hysk's fork, impaled a strip of ammonite, then lifted it to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

A second later, his eyes bugged out. He pounded a fist against his chest, and a little mewling sound escaped from his open mouth.

"I did try to warn you," Alys noted unsympathetically.

Joss leapt from his seat and scrambled across the room to the bar where he waved his hand at his mouth. He was already turning red and sweating, so Garn poured him a glass of milk. While the big hunter was guzzling it down, a blue-furred, wide-bodied Native Motavian approached the table.

"Is that some strange Parmanian custom?" Hysk asked dryly, clicking his beak in a kind of laugh.

"I think stupidity is a more generalized complaint."

"True, that. Do you think he'll be all right?"

"Probably. But I really don't want to know what kind of heartburn you'd get from food spiced for the palate of a race that doesn't even _have_ lips."

~X X X~

_A/N: Hysk is the creation of Joel Fagin, for his story "Eight-Stroke Sword," and as I'd let him play around with my Alys mythology, he was nice enough to let me use Hysk in one of my own fics, "An Exquisite Dance."_


	6. Head over Heels

_A/N: In the original version of this story, I'd called Garn "Galt," which is the kind of thing that happens when a year goes by without using an OC in a story and I don't bother to look things up. One advantage of reposting stories is that I can correct stuff like that! I further note that I describe the floor here as "stone," which is no doubt based on the PSIV game graphics...I have a feeling that later-written stories might imply that it's wood. Darned narrative continuity!_

~X X X~

Alys Brangwin hadn't been in the Hunter's Guild bar for a couple of weeks. First a monster hunt in Zema had occupied her, and once she'd cleared out that nest of locustas it had been off to the island of Uzo to find a kidnapped daughter who'd actually run away with her boyfriend. The jobs had been completed successfully, though, and the commission fees safely paid over into Alys's hands. There was a jaunty spring in the step of Motavia's foremost hunter as she entered the bar

"Alys!" the bartender greeted her cheerily as she swung up onto a stool. "It's been a while."

"Hey, Garn. One of the usual, please. Hey, I really like what you've done with the place. New mirror over the bar, new seat covers and tables, even the glasses are sparkling in their racks."

"Yeah, we did a bit of cleaning. How about you, though? Been out on your latest exciting crusade?"

Alys shrugged.

"It pays my bar tab." While Alys's opinion of her own abilities was justifiably high, she didn't feel the need to go around and tell everyone about all her exploits. Bragging, at least, was one sin they could acquit her of.

Garn set a mug down on the bar in front of her. "One of these days I'm going to hear about one of your jobs from you instead of from the gossip round."

"I'm sorry, Garn. I just don't like to shoot off my mouth."

"Hey, everyone!" a loud voice boomed out from the doorway. "The conquering hero is back after three months on the road."

"Unlike some people," Alys muttered.

The newcomer was Joss Howland, a big beefy lunk of a hunter who although moderately capable in battle balanced out what he had been given in strength and looks with a complete lack of brains and common sense. Worse yet, he'd gone from viewing Alys as a rival to be defeated (annoying but manageable) to seeing her as his romantic ideal (a complete disaster).

"Alys!" Joss shouted. "Wait until you hear about my latest adventure!"

She smiled winsomely and patted the stool next to her.

"Why don't you come over and tell me?"

Eager anticipation leapt into Howland's face, and he sprinted full-tilt across the taproom—or at least he tried to. Halfway across, one of his feet skidded out from under him, he executed a beautiful if involuntary backward somersault, and faceplanted himself into unconsciousness on the stone floor.

"Did I mention that I really liked the new wax job, Garn?"


	7. You Knocked Me Off My Feet

"The trouble with men, Garn," Alys Brangwin commented as the bartender passed over a flask containing her special order, then stopped before finishing the sentence.

"Having trouble putting it into words?" Garn asked.

"Having trouble narrowing it down to just one thing."

Garn might—miracles have been known to happen—have tried to stand up for his gender, but just then the batwing doors at the front of the tavern creaked as they swung open, and Joss Howland walked into the bar.

"Wonderful," Alys noted with a grimace. "A perfect example."

"Alys!" he cried out upon seeing her. Joss was, she had to admit, cute. Actually, he was what several of her friends would have termed a "hot piece of—"

_No,_ Alys stopped herself, _I don't even want to think of him in those terms._ She'd just finished eating, after all, and wanted to keep her lunch down.

The problem with Joss was that while cute, built, and skilled in battle, he had the mental capacity of firewood. Chief among the concepts he found difficult to absorb were, "I don't want to go out with you," "I don't find you in the least bit attractive," and "Go away, you worm-eaten sack of pus."

"I'll have one of what she's having," Joss told Garn as he sat down next to Alys.

"Um, Joss, are you sure you want that? She's—" Garn began, but was quickly interrupted.

"Hey, did I stutter? When a man's interested in a lady, he takes an interest in the things she likes. I want one of what she's got!"

Garn glanced at Alys for guidance. She just shrugged.

"Joss knows what he wants. Give him the same thing you gave me."

Garn nodded, then mixed up a second flask, which he sat in front of the burly hunter.

"Y'see? A man's gotta show a girl he's paying attention to her," Joss intoned, and drained half of the flask. It took no more than three seconds for his eyes to roll up in his head and his body to crash to the floor.

"I tried to tell him," Garn observed.

"Look at it this way. Now I know that the sleeping potion actually works."


	8. Totally Stuck on You

_A/N: This short is the "new" (as in, never-before-posted-anywhere) Guild Bar story from this batch. Of course, if you've only seen my PS work here at , then it's all new to you!_

~X X X~

"You're doing a nice job fixing the place up," Alys Brangwin told Garn as he brought dinner over to the table she and her friend Fenris were sharing.

"Yeah," the redhead agreed. "You can barely tell that there was a huge brawl last night." She paused, then added, "Well, except for the smell."

"Sorry about that, ladies; I really shouldn't have let you use this table until all the work was done."

"Nah," Alys waved it off. "At least it isn't toxic, just stinky, and as hunters, trust me, we've dealt with smells a lot worse than this one."

"Tell me about it," Fenris said. "Just last night, Jason was telling me about this one job he had when he got half-swallowed by a Meta Slug and had to cut his way out from the inside. Apparently he had to burn his shirt, buy all-new armor, and it was over a week before the baths finally got his skin clean, or probably just scraped it off."

Alys blinked.

"Do I want to know why the topic of slug vomit came up while you and your boyfriend were sharing a last night together before he left town on his latest job, Fen?"

"Probably not."

"I didn't think so, especially not right before I eat."

"I'm impressed you can eat even after _mentioning_ the topic," Garn said, setting down the plates. "But I guess you're right about you hunters being a tough lot; the place is as full as the repairs would let it be tonight."

"That's the benefit of running a bar in the Hunter's Guild," Fenris told him. "It takes a lot more than a work zone to keep us away from food and alcohol."

"Of course, that's the down side, too, since I'm guessing the alcohol part of that played a part in why the repairs were needed?"

"Actually, not so much, or at least not mine," Garn corrected Alys. "About a half-dozen townies, who were already at least a couple of sheets to the wind came in, full of attitude."

"Oh, the old 'we're so tough we can hang in a hunter bar' routine?" For all the talk around town, the Guild bar actually had no more fights than any other tavern in Aiedo, probably even less. But every so often, some would-be tough guy tried to prove his manhood by proclaiming he was the biggest, baddest person in a room full of people who made a profession out of violence. That never ended well.

"Yep."

"That," Alys decided when Garn had left them to their food, "is why I'm still single. There just aren't enough men out there who have enough brains to tell their ego to sit down and shut up."

"I'm not lending you mine," Fenris observed, grinning.

"Darn, one more off the list," Alys's own smile then vanished. "Speaking of perfect examples..."

Fenris turned her head to see Joss Howland approaching the table.

"Hey, Alys, babe! You should've seen me last night! One of them town punks tried to hit me over the head with a chair and it broke in two!"

"So you're putting being thick-skulled to use for you. It's good to see a man work with what he has."

The jibe was no more effective than the chair had been; he sauntered over to them.

"So, there's an empty seat there, and you ladies look a little lonely. Sounds like fate to me!"

"I wouldn't do that, Joss," Alys cautioned.

"Nah, go on and eat. You don't have to be all polite and wait until I get served to start; I don't mind."

"That wasn't even close to what I meant."

Alys's second warning, though, went just as unheeded as the first, and Joss grabbed the empty chair, pulled it out, and tried to swing himself down into it. His attempt was thwarted, though, when his fingers did not let go, and he instead found himself coming down onto the edge of the seat, where his weight carried hunter and chair alike to the floor with a crash.

"No one's using that chair because Garn had to glue it back together and the adhesive isn't dry yet," Alys finished.

"Maybe it was the same one he broke last night and it wanted revenge?"


	9. A Lesson Well Learned

_A/N: As can be seen by the fact that in this story, Alys has Chaz in tow, the Alys/Joss stories are not particularly written in chronological order, though I don't "go back" in later installments (for example, once Fenris starts dating Jason Cord, I won't then feature her in a story where she's looking for another guy...although it may seem that way to you reading this collection because I put up each "new" story with 2-3 "old" ones in tow, and there were five or so posted as individual fics as well). One nice thing about "gag" fics is that they don't have a lot of continuity to them._

_"Mila" is another example of the kind of world-building I tend to relentlessly engage in when writing _Phantasy Star_ fics. Creating new world details, and then using them everywhere else in my stories to create a unified continuity probably says something about my psychology. This one was from my very first completed PS fanfic, "Eight Swords."_

~X X X~

"Alys!" the bartender at the Hunter's Guild tavern called cheerily. Alys Brangwin waved in response.

"Afternoon, Garn."

"What'll it be? The usual for you, maybe a mila for the kid?"

Alys shook her head.

"Nope. I'm just here to teach Chaz a bit about human nature. I figured a demonstration would suit better than a lot of talk, and be easier on my throat."

A fair number of hunters envied fourteen-year-old Chaz Ashley. Alys had more or less adopted the boy on one of her jobs, and now he was her apprentice, studying the methods of the Guild's most famous and successful member. They figured it would be a short trip to fame and fortune once Chaz became a full-fledged hunter with that training behind him.

"Can I help?" Garn offered.

"Thanks, but I think I've got it covered." Her cool blue eyes had been scanning the crowd and it seemed she had finally spotted her quarry.

"Hey, Joss!" Alys called. "Can I borrow you for a second?"

Joss Howland, a big, handsome lunk of a hunter, stood up from his table and swaggered over. Lots of women liked Joss—so long as they weren't looking for someone with a working brain.

"Hey there, Alys. Finally decide that a hot babe like you should give the best a try?"

Ignoring the idiot, Alys turned to Chaz.

"Now do you understand what I mean?"

Chaz's head bobbed up and down.

"Oh, yes, now I get it. Geez, Alys, coming on to her like that I'm surprised all Melissa did was slap my face!"


	10. Don't Get All Bent Out of Shape

_A/N: In this story, originally from 2003, we get to meet Alys's fellow hunter and friend Fenris for the first time. I introduced her to give Alys someone to talk to besides Garn who isn't an annoying idiot, and to offer the occasional line of side commentary when it didn't suit Alys to explain a punchline. It's the first real example of how the "Guild Bar" stories started having an extended cast and fleshed-out setting to them, though they obviously remained rigidly formulaic in nature._

~X X X~

The Hunter's Guild tavern was humming with activity as Alys Brangwin walked through the main door. Behind the bar, Garn was dealing out drinks with his customary efficiency, and waiters moved to and from the kitchen to bring out plates from the grill. Spotting a familiar face, Alys dropped onto a stool next to a short, slender woman with a curly fall of crimson hair and sighed, unslinging the haversack from her shoulder.

"Alys!" the redhead chirped up at the sight of the tall brunette. "Sands, you look wiped."

"I just got back from Molcum. You would not _imagine_ how long it takes to root nineteen sand newts out of a native Motavian metallurgist's workshop. They'd dug tunnels down there, and I was chasing them up and down...not to mention those blasted animated toadstools that had already started to grow in some of those hot, damp corners. It's almost impossible to get fungoid slime off your boots."

"Nasty. What're you doing here, anyway?"

"I picked up my commission at the front desk, and it hit me that I'm too hungry to go to sleep and too tired to cook. So, I'm here. Anything I should watch out for, Fenris?"

Fen shook her head.

"Nah, it's all good since Garn replaced his cook two days ago."

"Well, looks like some things changed for the better while I was gone. Hey, Garn!"

The bartender turned at once; Alys didn't have a particularly piercing voice, but she knew how to make herself heard.

"Alys! Good to see you. Will it be the usual?"

"Not the way I feel right now. Get me a bowl of noodles, and something non-alcoholic."

Garn served the food quickly and Alys dug right in while Fenris regaled her with tales of what she'd missed while she'd been out of Aiedo. Alys had just begun to feel more like she was at home again when the convivial mood was shattered.

"Alys!"

This voice could also make itself be heard. In fact, Alys thought, they'd probably heard it in Uzo.

"Of all the things that changed while I was away, Fen, why did _he_ have to stay the same?"

Joss Howland was a walking cliche, the man who proved that the big, handsome, athletic, and painfully dumb guy wasn't just a stereotype. He'd thought of himself as a rival to Alys's professional reputation at first, but even his limited brain capacity had figured out the hopelessness of that goal in a relatively short time. Then, he'd switched gears and decided that any woman who was a better hunter than he could dream of being was the perfect choice of girlfriend. Shaking that idea had proven to be a bit trickier.

"Heck if I know."

Joss strutted up to the two women and reached out to sling an arm around Alys's shoulders. He somehow missed and nearly overbalanced into the bar, but did not let this cramp his style.

"Aw, Alys, don't be shy. Just giving you a friendly squeeze, is all."

"Squeeze pretty hard, can you, Joss?"

Joss, wearing a sleeveless vest, flexed an arm. He had that tie-iron-pokers-into-knots kind of build. He grinned, impressed by his own bulging muscles.

"Well, it's your lucky day. You show me you're enough of a man for me, and I'll let you take me out."

"Bring it on! Anything you say!"

"Okay. Hold on a second; I've got a souvenir of my trip for you."

She bent down and opened her pack, fished around for a second, and took out a metal bar.

"Here you go, Joss. Give it a bend."

"That's all? Easy as shortcake, Alys." He grabbed each end in one hamlike fist and flexed.

And strained.

And grunted.

Meanwhile, the bar ignored his efforts, stubbornly remaining perfectly straight.

Beads of sweat were starting to stand out on his forehead as he staggered off across the tavern, more as a result of his unceasing effort than any willful act.

Alys tossed a few coins down to pay for her dinner.

"Keep an eye on Joss, will you, Fen?"

"I won't let him pop a blood vessel," Fenris said. "Got to say, though, those native Motavians are really on to something with that titanium."


	11. Guilding the Lily

_A/N: As most people who have read my Phantasy Star fics have probably noticed, I use the names for the planets that were used in the original game where the particular fanfic happens to be set (well, except for Phantasy Star I, where I treat "Dezoris" as a Palman-language corruption of "Dezolis," so which I use depends on which culture I'm writing from the perspective of). Thus, in this PSIV story, I use "Parma" and "Parmanian," assuming that 1000 years of linguistic drift have managed to change one letter. None of which has anything to do with this plot, but hey, I've got to fill these Author's Notes with something, right? ^_-_

~X X X~

"I really hate this time of year," Alys Brangwin complained as she found a seat at the bar in the Hunter's Guild tavern. _I'm whining_, she realized, catching the traces of self-pity in her voice. _I'm actually whining! I'm glad Galf isn't here to see me reduced to this._

"Upset because everyone around you is all lovey-dovey and you don't have a boyfriend?" her friend Fenris asked from the next barstool.

It was the holiday season of love and romance on Motavia, when couples celebrated with gifts, sweets, and flowers; when betrothals were traditionally entered into; and when the sugary sweetness that seemed to fill the atmosphere often drove the unattached to distraction.

"Eh? Oh, no, that isn't it."

She was about to say more, but Garn, owner and bartender of the establishment, set a steaming hot mug in front of her. She picked it up and drank gratefully, savoring the taste and the strongly-scented fumes.

"I figure that love is important, so people have a right to be happy about it. Sure, I wish that I had a guy, but the way I figure it, if I had met the right one, I'd be dating him already. An occasional fling can stand up with a couple of common interests, but if you want something above the waistline it's important to get it right. A relationship with the wrong guy just for the sake of having one is a heck of a lot worse than being single."

Alys had just taken another drink from the mug when a perfect example of the point she was making walked through the door. Joss Howland might have been big, handsome, and devoted, but until he got enough brainpower to understand that he just wasn't to Alys's taste, he'd always be the wrong guy. The very wrong guy.

"Alys, babe!"

He was carrying a sheaf of sapphire lilies, a pale blue flower whose petals deepened to a pink core at the center. Parmanian tradition had been to give red roses to one's beloved, but roses didn't grow on Motavia and when Parma was destroyed a thousand years ago it became necessary to find a local substitute. Sapphire lilies were not only thematically appropriate due to their "blushing" heart, but their life cycle had them flower abundantly for ten days or so prior to the holiday.

"Please accept these flowers as a token of my adoration for you," Joss announced, thrusting the bouquet towards Alys. Since eloquence—if only for a sentence—was well outside his usual _modus operandi_, she figured he'd scripted it in advance. Unfortunately, he destroyed any impression of polished charm by nearly jamming the flowers in Alys's face in his enthusiasm.

"_Achoo!_"

A shower of lily petals sprayed over Joss, clinging to his shoulders and hair. While Alys desperately backed away, fumbling for a handkerchief and still sneezing, Fenris clucked her tongue at the dumbstruck suitor.

"Joss, I don't think anyone ever won the heart of a woman by giving her an allergy attack."


	12. Not So Quick on the Draw

_A/N: Every so often, Joss forgets the lesson Alys taught him in "Reputations." Or maybe he just gets sick of the constant humiliation. Either way, fresh evidence needs to be provided now and again. Incidentally, getting Alys and Joss involved in what's essentially an _iaijutsu _duel came out of PSO, which littered us with katanas and Japanese-culture references. Working on the assumption that there was a link between _Pioneer 2_ and Algo, I came up with the concept of a pseudo-Japanese culture based in a region called "Aerie" (it was in the northeast corner of the PSIV Motavia map). There's even a serious Alys fic which interacts with that and the Legendary Katanas of PSO, entitled "Faces of Honor" (it also brings back Rane Juael, an OC from "Sixteen Strokes," one of my better early fics, so I liked it for that purpose). Then, of course, PSO Episode II came along and nerfed the whole thing by providing that the name of _Pioneer 2_'s homeworld was "Coral," and that essentially the entire PSO series was an alternate continuity from the original PS games, just with similar series-trademarked elements marking it as a "Phantasy Star" game. You'll note that I haven't mentioned that idea since!_

~X X X~

Aiedo's huge indoor marketplace was the greatest center for consumer goods on the planet Motavia. From exotic foodstuffs that came from across the continent to clothes, housewares, medicines, even weapons and armor, it could be found there. Even Alys Brangwin occasionally shopped at the market. She'd had her eye on a new recipe calling for rare _jungashka_ fruit, and thanks to the commercial masterpiece of her hometown, Motavia's most famous hunter now carried a sack with four nice ripe ones, pink and juicy.

Most of the weapon shops didn't interest her—the Hunter's Guild had access to better equipment through its worldwide contacts—but her professional eye was caught by a sword-seller demonstrating how an ornate wooden sheath was made, fitting the pieces together with resin. The craftsmanship was attractive, and she thought such a weapon might make a good graduation present for her apprentice, Chaz Ashley.

"Alys, babe!" a voice boomed out.

_Serves me right for wanting to do something nice._

"Hello, Joss," she said through gritted teeth.

When he'd first joined the Hunter's Guild, Joss Howland had thought of Alys as a rival to his impending greatness. When his attempts to show her up had spectacularly backfired, though, he'd begun to see her as something else, something much more bothersome from Alys's perspective.

"So what'cha got there in the bag? Something for dinner? How about I come over and give you some dessert?"

"Don't you ever get tired of acting like a stereotype?"

"Hey, babe, the Joss does not _get_ tired."

_Serves me right for using words with more than one syllable._

"Then you have plenty of energy to go far away. Now."

Joss's temper suddenly flared.

"What? You don't think I'm good enough for you, 'cause you're the high-and-mighty Eight-Stroke Sword?"

Alys gritted her teeth (again; Joss was always hard on her dental work). He just _had_ to use that ridiculous nickname, didn't he?

"No, I just think you're an idiot."

Tact was not Alys's strong suit.

"Well, I'm gonna show you here and now that I'm just as good a hunter as you!"

Listening wasn't Joss's.

"What are you talking about?"

"We're gonna settle this old-school. A one-on-one duel, sword to sword. Fast-draw and one strike."

"Just like in every wandering-hero story."

"Hey! Are you making fun of me?"

"Yes."

"_What?_"

Apparently one-syllable words didn't work either. Alys sighed heavily in frustration.

"All right. Fine. You win. You score off me and you can come to dinner tonight. I hope you like Motavian food."

She snatched the scabbard all but out of the stall clerk's hands, grabbed the matching sword, and rammed it home. Alys flipped the weapon to Joss and picked up a nearly identical one off the sale rack.

"Think of it as an advertisement," she told the sputtering artisan. "You can say all the best hunters use your wares to settle their moronic ego-trips."

She hooked the blade into place, set the fruit bag down on the counter, and turned to face Joss. About five paces separated the two hunters as their eyes met, hands hovering an inch above their blade-hilts. The crowd had drawn back, surrounding the combatants with eager expectation. Someone was probably taking bets; Alys wondered if there was some way she could get a few meseta down on the outcome.

In that moment of distraction, Joss struck! Hand seized hilt, and in one lightning-fast move he...

...spun himself around in a circle from the force of his efforts as the sword remained firmly stuck in place. He redoubled his efforts, straining mightily. The cursing started not long afterwards.

Alys picked up her sack, returned the sword, and tipped the clerk a few meseta for the loan.

"I guess the resin wasn't quite dry yet," she commented. "Fancy that."


	13. There Are None So Blind

_A/N: There's one of those Aerie references again. "Miyama-style" refers to Great Sword Zoke Miyama, a character from Phantasy Star Online whose Guild Quest introduced the Legendary Katanas Sange, Yasha, Kamui, and Agito to the game. And see? There's that floor being wooden, just like I mentioned back in the author's note for "Head over Heels"... *sigh* I'm getting hit with continuity errors from all sides, which is the kind of thing that happens when I only was writing 2-3 of these things a year. Interestingly, Joss seems to show some self-awareness here that's slightly out of character (witness the stakes he offers Alys in their bet), so that may count as yet a third flub!_

~X X X~

The floor creaked noisily as Alys Brangwin walked into the bar in the Hunter's Guild tavern.

"Garn, you really need to fix that floor. It sounds like I'm gaining weight."

The bartender polished a glass while checking Alys's expression carefully. One did not jest with Motavia's most capable hunter about her weight without being very sure of her mood.

"You're sounding chipper today, Alys."

"Well, I got back in town after a successful job, and found that the Guild has a new handfighting tutor, Miyama-style, no less. I really need a good brush-up; my footwork is getting sloppy." She grinned and added, "You should have seen the apprentices asking her to break boards and bricks. Little kids love that kind of show-off display."

"Hey, Alys!"

The voice boomed through the bar like the echo of doom.

"Wait until you see what I've learned!"

It was Joss Howland, her very own personal Nemesis. Tall as a tree, broad as a mountain, strong as a bull, and dumb as slug spittle, he was unable to comprehend that hooking up with him was not Alys's idea of bliss.

"You've learned something? Are pigs flying in Aiedo these days?"

"Blind-fighting!" he exclaimed, impervious to sarcasm. "Just test me! I can block anything you throw at me!"

"I doubt that."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I bet you can't hit me, and if you can, I won't ask you out even once for a month!"

"This is an offer I can't pass up," Alys decided, and hopped down from her bar stool.

"But if I can parry your attack, you've got to go out for dinner with me!"

She hesitated, then shrugged.

"Worth the risk."

Joss pulled out a strip of thick fabric and offered it to Alys. She checked that it wasn't see-through, then tied it around Joss's eyes. He dropped into a handfighting stance, legs apart, balanced on the balls of his feet.

"I assume I can't use an edged weapon?" she teased, not meaning it...much.

"How does this work?" Garn asked.

"You listen for sounds, feel the movement of air," Alys explained. "Some people say there's a kind of sixth sense that operates to detect the presence of other people around you, but..." She shrugged. "I'm not an expert at the mystic stuff. It's pretty impressive for someone who knows the skill."

Alys slammed the heel of her boot down on the loose board. The other end snapped up, catching Joss squarely between the legs.

"Not so impressive for those who don't. A month, did you say?"

"...maybe...two..."


	14. A Little Knowledge Is a Dangerous Thing

_A/N: I'm a continuity wonk, I admit it. Bluntly, every single one of my Phantasy Star stories (um, okay, except for one PSIII story, "Love Is Not a Dream." There's always one troublemaker!) takes place in the same continuity—and I've written over a hundred of the things. Which means that, when I invent an OC, I'm likely to reuse them. Pretty much everyone who writes more than a couple of PSIV fics has to do an obligatory "origin of Zio" story (personally, I think the best ever is Rune Lai's, but then again, people have paid her actual money to put her original fiction in actual books, so there's probably a reason for that ^_- ), and I was no exception with "Amber Eyes, Shadow Eyes," which I basically took the button of Alys's line from the game, "Zio? That fake magician!" and sewed a vest on it. Jason Cord was the OC protagonist of that story. So when I decided that I needed to expand the cast of Guild Bar characters in "An Illuminating Experience," I decided to re-use him instead of inventing another new character._

_He's been offstage dating Fenris for the past couple stories, but he's back for this one._

_In good news, not only did I not botch continuity this time, but the fact that I gave the Guild Bar those classic swinging batwing doors like are in a billion saloons in a billion Western movies and TV shows is actually promoted to a plot point! (It's also why Alys can see Joss approach the doors from the outside.)_

~X X X~

"So," Jason Cord said, "have you seen Joss lately?"

Alys Brangwin slowly turned on her bar stool to look at the man she thought was a friend. That status was in question given his choice of conversational topics.

"I was sitting here, enjoying my drink, relaxing after a hard week's work, and you have to go and start talking about _him_?"

Motavia's most celebrated hunter had a complicated relationship with Joss Howland. She respected the burly, handsome man as a good fighter and an adequate fellow hunter on jobs that did not require a great deal of intellect. His attitude towards her bordered on the worshipful. He considered her to be everything he could possibly want in a mate. Alys did not return this attitude. She would not say that Joss was the last man on the planet she would consider for a romance, but was pretty sure that if she ever worked her way down to his part of the list she would start seriously looking at celibacy.

Cord grinned, knowing darned well how Alys felt.

"Troublesome as he can be, you have to give him credit for recognizing his flaws and seeking to correct them."

"I do? Since when?"

"Oh, you haven't heard? Ah, that's right; you've been out of town for the past week on that job in Piata. But it's true: Joss has come to realize that his major problem in life comes from his head, so he's decided to educate himself."

"Well, that might do something about his pig-ignorance, but I'm not sure it'll help the fundamental problem of his stupidity."

Cord chuckled.

"That was blunt."

"I just spent seven days in an academy town, getting daily demonstrations of the difference between intelligence and education."

"I wonder if it was your taking that job that inspired him, now that you've been hanging around with the intellectual elite."

"That I believe. It'd mean that he didn't really want to improve himself, but just wanted to impress me."

"Well, it looks like he's about to get his chance to try."

Cord gestured with his mug in the direction of the bar entrance, and Alys turned to see that above the swinging doors, Joss Howland's upper body was visible, together with the upper half of a massive book bound in green-dyed, sandworm-hide leather. His eyes were down, fixed intently on the book. She could tell he was actually concentrating and not just carrying the book for show, since his lips were moving.

Unfortunately for Joss, that concentration made it difficult for him to see where he was going. The leading edge of the book hit the door solidly, sending it swinging open. The unexpected impact, though, made Joss stop short and rock back on his heels, looking up to see what had happened. The batwing doors, though, swung back and smacked into the book, jarring it out of his grip.

The heavy bound volume landed squarely on his foot.

As Joss hopped away back into the main Guild building, clutching his foot, Alys turned back to Cord.

"I'll give him this: this new interest in education seems to have improved his creativity. I'm not sure that last curse is even physically possible."


	15. The Essence of the Job

_A/N: It's not only Alys whom Joss's...lack of forethought...causes problems for._

~X X X~

"Don't take this personally, Garn, but I'm really starting to wonder why I come here," groused Alys Brangwin.

The bartender at the Hunter's Guild tavern didn't take it personally. He, too, had seen Joss Howland come in the door.

"Alys, babe!" Joss bellowed as soon as he caught sight of the Guild's most famous hunter. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, a rugged specimen of masculine beauty. He considered himself Heaven's gift to women, and this was probably true for the sort of woman who says, "I like 'em big and dumb!"

Alys had thus far been unable to convince him that she was not one of that sort. It was too bad, she thought, that they couldn't use his utterly impervious self-esteem for armor plating.

"I am not your 'babe,' Joss. I would rather have my eyelids nibbled off by sand newts."

Joss laughed. Apparently he thought she'd been kidding.

"Well, you'll be changing your tune when I tell you about my latest successful Guild job."

"You found Mrs. Terence's dog?"

"I'm talking about a _real_ job, the kind of thing worthy of a hunter!"

"Forgot to check the shortcake shop, didn't you?"

"The baker brought her home, so the dog was safe, and Mrs. Terence didn't have to pay a fee, so can we just move on?" The words tumbled out one over the other in pell-mell fashion. "I have a story of derring-do! I was the hero, fighting off a horde of bandits to protect a merchant's hand-cart. We were attacked eight separate times between Piata and Aiedo, but each time I drove off the enemy gangs, so we arrived safe and sound at the market!"

"I thought you were in Piata for a crawler hunt."

"I was; I picked up this job while I was there. A top hunter like myself can't let opportunity—"

_"Howland!"_

The shout was like a thunderbolt. Every conversation in the bar died at once, and nineteen heads swiveled towards the door. The petite, dark-haired Guild secretary stood framed in the arch, and her expression made eighteen people very glad she wasn't talking to them. She held up a sheet of paper.

"I just received a letter transmission from Motavia Academy, Howland!" she snapped while stalking towards him. "Do you care to explain what a Guild hunter was doing, helping a thief fight off the town guard—_repeatedly!—_while he brought stolen archaeological treasures here to fence?"


	16. The Masculine Capacity

_A/N: This series of stories is, obviously, extremely formulaic. Basically, every one consists of "Joss makes a play for Alys, does something stupid, and ends up getting racked," with very minor variations ("Just Another Bar Joke," for example, skips right over the "makes a play for Alys" part and goes directly to the rackage). As Martin III mentioned in a review, this means that whether you enjoy them or not pretty much depends on me being able to come up with original ideas for _how_ to work the formula._

_...except in stories like this one, where I can attempt to put a running gag to work for me._

~X X X~

Garn, owner of the Hunter's Guild bar, passed a tall travel-flask across to Alys Brangwin.

"Thanks, Garn; sometimes it seems like I can't get enough of this stuff," Motavia's preeminent hunter said. She reached for her money pouch, but was forestalled by a deep, booming voice.

"Put away your meseta, Alys; this one's on me."

Alys was not a particularly religious woman, but the sound of that voice had her offering up prayers.

"Joss."

Joss Howland exactly fit the popular image of a hunter. He was a tall, broad, powerful man, as strong and tough as an ox and nearly half as intelligent. For some reason he had decided that Alys was destined to be his one true love. Alys figured she just had a soft spot for kids and dumb animals, since most girls would have run him through with a sword at this point.

"I love to see a woman who isn't too prissy to put away a few cold ones. Whatcha drinking, there?"

"This isn't really a—"

"C'mon, Alys. You know I won't tell."

"Joss, seriously, this would lay you out on the floor."

He stared wide-eyed at her. For a brief two seconds she thought he might actually take her at her word. Then, Joss's natural personality quashed that dream.

"What, you don't think I'm man enough? Sure, you may be a better hunter, but there's no way a little slip of a thing like you can drink me under the table."

"You're that much of a man, huh?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her.

"I'm _all_ man, baby."

That settled things.

"All right, Joss. Go for it."

She slid the flask over to him. Joss popped out the cork and drained the contents dry in one mighty swig. Then he dropped to the bar floor with one mighty thud. The flask bounced once, but it was a well-made travel type, designed to absorb shocks. Alys picked it up and wiped the rim.

"Garn, could you get me another dose of that sleeping potion?"

He looked down at Joss wonderingly.

"This is the second time he's done that. Do you think I ought to add it to the regular menu?"


	17. Drawing Too Much Heat

Despite what some of the citizens of Aiedo thought, the Hunter's Guild bar was not just a place for Motavia's mercenary troubleshooters to drink themselves senseless, leer at fan-dancers, and brawl with each other until dawn. Some of that went on (mostly of the first two; surprisingly little fighting took place between hunters, perhaps because they preferred to be paid for it), but in reality the Guild bar was a full-service nightclub, drinking establishment, and restaurant where hunters could put their feet up and relax in the company of other people who knew and understood the trials of their work.

Of course, having food ready to go was more than tossing noodles into a pot or a slab of meat on the grill. If a customer wanted dessert, he or she probably didn't want to wait for it to be baked from scratch. While Garn, the owner, bought fresh bread from one of the bakeries in town, his cook Nala spent several hours each day whipping up various homemade pies. Every day, the kitchen windows overlooking the Guild's practice field were laden with cooling pastry that sent their aromas out to tease and tantalize the hunters as they worked up an appetite during training.

Garn wasn't a fool when it came to advertising.

Unfortunately, human nostrils were not the only ones teased and tantalized by the aroma of pie. Nala had to keep a sharp eye out or birds (and on a couple of dramatic occasions, monsterflies) would be feasting on the baked goods while the paying customers went hungry.

Alys Brangwin saw the plump, well-muscled cook swatting at crows with a towel. Nala was, herself, an ex-hunter and the gray-haired lady was still quite capable of swiping a bird out of the sky with a thrown missile, so the fact that she was only shooing them away was because of her soft heart, not her ability. Alys approved. She herself had a soft spot for dumb animals.

Perhaps that explained why she hadn't put Joss Howland out of his misery years ago.

As a hunter, Joss wasn't bad. He was big, strong, a competent fighter, and had the toughness and willpower to take hits and keep on going despite the pain. Unfortunately for Alys, that latter quality was something he applied to his romantic pursuit of her, as well.

"Hey, check it out, babe!" he boomed smugly. "I mastered a new skill!"

"Seriously?" Many hunters learned combat skills which were similar to mystic techniques but drew on power within rather than without, and tended to be more personalized as opposed to the systematic, rigid cause-and-effect of technique use. "What is it, some kind of deathblow?"

He shook his head, his smile growing.

"Nope. It's a mind-affecting technique."

"A guy who has trouble thinking for one can now think for his enemies as well?" Alys said, raising an eyebrow. The comment was a little acerbic for friendly dialogue, but he'd lost out on her limited store of politeness right off by calling her "babe."

"Uh-huh. It makes them want to attack me."

"You don't need a special skill for that. Or are you using it on me right now?"

Joss chuckled, apparently believing, somehow, that she was joking.

"Nah, that's not what I mean. It only works on people or monsters already in battle. It makes them want to direct their attacks at me instead of the people I'm with, 'cause I'm usually the toughest, most heavily-armored guy in the group, instead of the tech-users, or if I'm escorting merchants or travelers or something like that."

"Oh, I see." She paused, then with the courage suitable for Motavia's most famous hunter she said, "Actually, that's a pretty good idea. It could help keep people safe and make battles work on your terms instead of the other side's." Monsters tended to go after the apparently weak and helpless on instinct, and a skill like that could also completely foul up the tactics of human enemies.

"Yeah, and it looks cool, too. Check it out!"

He clenched his fists, curling his arms in, like a muscle-builder flexing, and gave a deep, growling roar. An aura like shimmering green flames wreathed his body. Alys glanced around, hoping that none of the other training hunters would be suddenly sending their weapons sailing Joss's way, but apparently the mental state required for solo weapons practice wasn't aggressive or combative enough to open up vulnerability to Joss's skill.

It did, however, prove its effectiveness by reaching the one person in range who was engaged in actual battle. In the next moment, a hot magentaberry pie connected with the side of Joss's face. Alys couldn't be sure if the thieving crows, too, had been influenced or just hungry, but they followed after, swooping and diving at the hunter. He bolted for cover, flailing his arms wildly to try and shoo off the flock.

"Darn; I was hoping for a slice of that with dinner tonight," Alys complained.

~X X X~

_A/N: The title to this story, by the way, was inspired by the fact that the skill which Joss shows here is an actual game ability in the _Xenosaga_ series, by which your tank characters (Ziggy & KOS-MOS) can attract the attention of the enemies to them, rather than having the enemies attack more vulnerable targets or blast the whole party. That skill is called "Heat."_


	18. The Metaphorcast Is for Trouble

Alys Brangwin wasn't what her friends would call a fashion plate. Motavia's most celebrated hunter had more important things to concern herself with than whether or not she was following all the latest style trends. Still, she generally took the trouble to make sure that she was turned out neatly, so it was a surprise to her friend Fenris that Alys walked into the Hunter's Guild bar in boots that were badly worn, scuffed beyond hope of polish, and in a couple of places had even had to be stitched back together where the leather had been cut or torn.

Showing the perception that made her so good at her job, Alys caught the direction of Fenris's glance at once.

"Yeah, it has not been a good day," she grumbled, then called down to the bartender. "Hey, Garn, get me the usual, and make it a double."

"Gotcha, Alys."

"Wow, it _must_ have been bad."

"Someone stole my boots while I was in the Guild bathhouse," Alys growled. "I had to walk home and get this pair out, which meant in addition to the annoyance and the theft, that I might as well not have bothered washing my feet with what all the dirt and dust I picked up on the way."

"At least it was your boots and not some underwear-snatching pervert looking through your stuff," Fenris tried to console her.

"I'd almost have preferred that. My boots cost a heck of a lot more than my underwear."

Fenris blinked in surprise.

"You have weird priorities, Alys."

"You think I'd feel any more violated at someone pawing through my stuff for different reasons?" Alys did tend to be more focused on results rather than the way she got to them.

Garn set the drink in front of her and she knocked back half of it in one gulp.

"Did you report the theft to the Guild secretary?" Fenris asked.

"Yes. After all, this kind of thing isn't just about me; it's a slap at all of us hunters, to have a thief inside the Guild facilities. Though I'd still rather handle it myself if I get the chance." She finished off the drink, then beckoned wordlessly for another. "Getting robbed, filing paperwork...it's just been one awful day."

"I think it just got worse."

"Huh?"

Fenris nodded towards the door, where Joss Howland had just walked in.

Joss was a fellow hunter, a tall, broad-shouldered man who was as powerful as an avalanche and nearly half as intelligent. He had fallen head over heels for Alys and no amount of sweet reason (or occasional physical violence) seemed capable of convincing him that he wasn't just the right approach away from breaking through her reserve.

"I don't know. He's walking like he's in pain, which is always a good sign."

As always, it took him less than two seconds to notice Alys's presence in the bar, and he made a beeline for her, somehow mincing and limping all at the same time.

"You know, Alys, that old saying is stupid."

That was an odd opening line, so for a moment Alys wondered if Garn might have given her the triple and she was hallucinating.

"I mean, I wanted to know you better, right, to see how you think, what you like in a guy? But the only thing I learned is that you've got smaller feet than me."

"Joss, what are you talking about?"

"You know the line? If you want to know a person, you have to walk a mile in their shoes?"

Alys looked around the edge of the table. Sure enough, her knee-height white boots were on Joss's feet. Or at least they mostly were. In altogether too many places, the seams had been unable to hold Joss's much bigger feet and calves and had ripped out.

"Well, I tried that," Joss continued, "but the only thing I got out of it was a raging set of blisters. My feet are killing me, and I don't know how you—"

He shut up then. He really had no other choice, since Alys's fist coming up under his jaw caused his mouth to shut and teeth click together. He toppled like a falling wall, hitting the floor with a crash.

"The day looking up now?" Fenris asked with a grin.

"That entirely depends on whether the fallen literalist here has enough meseta to buy me new boots."

"At least your priorities are consistent."

~X X X~

_A/N: I hope that Joss didn't come off too creepy as the boot thief. His character is supposed to basically function like a little kid: stimulus-response, without really thinking through anything beyond the most superficial level of perception. Which is probably creepy on a completely different level._

_Alys's thoughts on the level of violation associated with different kinds of thefts were meant to be consistent with what I've written about her in the past, particularly on the subject of killing (Alys finds nothing worse about stabbing someone in the back than about beating them in fair combat—or, more accurately, she doesn't find that giving someone the opportunity to defend themselves in fair combat makes them any less dead—it's the result of death that matters, not the how of it, and if you're considering killing someone you ought to be using your moral sense on the underlying issue of _if_ this person should be killed at all, not on _how_). To her, getting robbed is about the fact that going forward she'll have an even lower comfort level with leaving her things behind in the bathhouse and will now have to adjust her thinking to assume things there are less secure. The question of _why_ this happened doesn't really matter so far as _her feelings_ are concerned, although it obviously becomes relevant in catching the thief. Hopefully, it all made sense!_


	19. Objects May Be Dumber Than They Appear

Alys Brangwin took a long, deep pull on her tankard, then let out a satisfied sigh.

"I tell you, Garn," Motavia's most famous hunter said to the bartender, "there's nothing more refreshing after a long, hard work day than something cold to drink."

"Well, it's a principle that I try to get people to live by," Garn agreed. "Mind you, I do have a few ulterior motives that play into that."

"Just a few," Alys agreed. "But so long as your ice supply holds out, I won't blame you. Right now, I'm in one of those good moods that nothing can spoil."

Garn glanced towards the door and frowned.

"I think that might be about to be put to the test."

Alys looked back over her shoulder and sighed.

"You know, Garn, I've been a hunter for quite a while now. You'd think that I'd have figured out at some point that saying things like that is just tempting fate."

The reason for their reaction was one Joss Howland, a tall, broad-shouldered man who looked like a tough, rugged hunter and actually was one. Unfortunately for Alys, adjectives like "tough" and "rugged" have little to do with intelligence, and in that area Joss was decidedly lacking. Making matters worse, he had a definite partiality for Alys and could not quite seem to get it through his head that "big and dumb" was not her type.

Usually, he reacted to seeing her in the Guild bar with a bellowed greeting and some kind of cheap pickup line. Alys made a mental note to check Hell for icicles, because this time Joss ignored her and focused on the bartender.

"Hey, Garn. You got something I can put on this?" he groaned.

"Put on wh—oh. That looks nasty, Joss."

"Feels nasty, too," Joss agreed, which Alys couldn't argue with. Now that he was up close, she could see that he was sporting a puffy, rapidly darkening bruise around his right eye.

"You know, a dose of monomate would take care of that right off," Alys suggested.

"Yeah, I know," Joss said, "but that stuff costs too much to waste it on this. Might need one some day when a Zol Slug is trying to dissolve my leg or something."

"That's a point." It could never be said that Alys Brangwin did not appreciate the value of a meseta. "Maybe someone could Res it for you?"

"Would you do that for me, Alys?"

She shook her head.

"Sorry; I actually would if I could, but I don't know any of the healing techniques."

Joss let out a sigh.

"Should have figured you'd be better at breaking stuff than fixing it. After all, you've already managed to give me this today." He jerked a thumb towards his eye.

Alys was starting to feel like she's fallen into some weird upside-down universe. First Joss more-or-less ignored her, and now this? A fair number of her encounters with Joss in the bar finished with him getting hurt in one way or another—generally without her even having to help—but that happened at the _end_ of the business, not the beginning.

"Joss, I haven't seen you all day!" she protested. "How can you claim I did that to your eye?"

"Well, you didn't punch me in it or something, yeah, but it is your fault."

"Here's some ice," Garn interjected, handing Joss a towel wrapped around several crushed chunks from the cooler.

"Thanks, Garn." He pressed the ice pack to his eye.

"Again, I haven't seen you all day," Alys continued the more surreal part of the conversation. "So how can I be responsible for you hurting your eye?"

He gave her a long, searching look, as if trying to judge if she was being serious, given the apparent obviousness of the matter to _his_ mind. Apparently deciding that it was just barely possible for Alys not to know, he decided to start his story.

For her part, Alys was kind of surprised that she cared. Joss Howland's health and welfare wasn't exactly something she spent a lot of time worrying about. On several occasions, in fact, she'd felt it appropriate to take direct steps _against_ his health. She supposed it was just the seemingly false accusation that bothered her. Alys was perfectly happy to take credit for any bruises that she'd genuinely inflicted on Joss but didn't like to be blamed for things she didn't do.

"I've been working some shifts over at the jail as a fill-in guard," he began. "The town guard's got a few guys out sick, so they've been asking for hunters to take some of the prison watch shifts."

"Oh, yeah, I saw some of the listings for that." The pay wasn't much, since the job basically consisted of standing around and occasionally glaring at someone for six-hour shifts. Though those were two of Joss's better skills and Alys supposed that someone broke enough to worry about the price of monomates wasn't in a position where he could get too picky about paying work.

"So, I was over there this morning. The place was empty; the only guys in jail yesterday were a fellow who'd tried to sneak out of his inn without paying and two men who were up on being drunk and disorderly. They all made bail this morning, so there wasn't anyone there to guard. I didn't much see why they wanted me to watch over an empty row of cells but hey, if they want to pay me, I'm not going to argue."

"All right, so where do I come in to all of this?"

"Don't you remember? You were giving that demonstration out in front of the Guild."

"I remember the demonstration. I just don't see what you had to do with it." The Guild secretary had nagged, cajoled, wheedled, and threatened Alys into showing off some of her weapon and technique skills for a group of apprentice-age kids in a shameless recruiting ploy. As the Guild's most celebrated figure, Alys's name apparently meant something in shows like that.

"Well, c'mon, Alys, I had to watch it, didn't I? I'm your biggest fan!"

"Possibly in terms of size. So you left your job to come watch me show off for the kids?"

"Of course not! That would be a breach of my duty as a hunter. I can't believe you'd think I would do something so unprofessional as skip out on a job." He actually sounded a little hurt at the insinuation. Alys did not find herself moved to feel sorry, though; the day wasn't quite _that_ strange.

"So what did you do? The prison is back behind the Guild and too far away to see clearly from," Garn prompted Joss, apparently curious despite himself.

"I used my skill and ingenuity as a hunter. I went up to the second floor of the guard tower and looked out the window."

"That'd let you see over the Guild building, but it's still kind of far."

"Which is why I used a spyglass! That way I got to see everything Alys did. You were great, by the way, especially when you used your Vortex on that one target dummy and then hit it with Foi. That looked really cool!"

"Um, thank you? But how did you hurt yourself doing that? A spyglass isn't one of the more risky pieces of hunter equipment unless you hit someone with it or something like that."

"Well, you know what those windows are like, right? Really narrow so attackers can't easily shoot or throw weapons in?"

"Right."

"So just as you were getting to the big finish, the town guards brought in a pickpocket to lock up. Only, I had the cell keys with me since I was responsible for them. So the guard came upstairs without my hearing him and yelled, 'Hey, Howland, what the hell are you doing up here instead of watching the cells?' He startled me, so I turned around really fast, and the spyglass hit the inside of the window, which caused the other end to bash me in the face. So really, Alys, this is all your fault, because if I wasn't watching you I wouldn't have hit my eye or gotten half my pay docked for leaving my post!"

~X X X~

_A/N: I suspect Garn gets his ice supply through liberal use of the Wat technique by his hunter clientele. Some tech-users probably pay off their bar tab that way!_


	20. Make Your Own Unluck

"Garn, I hate to tell you this, but it's hard to sit here and enjoy a drink when all that hammering is making my head feel like I've already got the hangover." Motavia's most preeminent hunter, Alys Brangwin, wasn't the bar's best customer, but she was its most famous, so the owner was inclined to try to keep her in a good mood.

"Yeah," said the redhead sitting next to her, "and we can't hear each other talk, either."

"Though since you're just telling me how your date with Jason went last night, I'm not sure that's actually a bad thing, Fen."

Fenris just rolled her eyes at that.

"Ah, I just wanted to get this new painting hung over the door before the dinner rush started, but it can wait if the noise is really bugging you," Garn said. "And there's another three nails to go in, so it'd be a while if I kept at it."

Alys looked up at the desert vista, done in the bold colors of Native Motavian artwork. It was etched and painted on an oblong metal plate, hence the number of nails required to hold it up.

"Is it going to be all right?"

"Oh, yeah, the three I've already done will hold it fine for a couple of hours. I was just being careful." Garn set the hammer down on top of the ladder for later and came down.

"Well, okay. Can you get me another drink, then? I think I'm going to need it if Fen starts in on the kissing parts."

"You wouldn't be this grumpy if you had a man of your own, Alys."

"That's kind of hard. From what I can tell, you fast-moving types have snapped up all the interesting guys. And the ones who _aren't_ taken, well..."

"Hey, Alys!" boomed from the door.

"Well, there's a perfect example," she finished up.

Joss Howland was tall, strong, and handsome. He was a respectably competent hunter, besides, at least for those jobs that required a lot of brawn and not much in the way of brains, because not much in the way of brains was what he had. If Alys's taste in men had been "big and dumb," she'd have found him ready and willing to cure her single status, since he had a long-standing crush on her. For her part, Alys had a strict policy against dating men who made her teeth grit on sight.

Rather than go around the ladder, Joss took the most direct path in Alys's direction and ducked his shoulder to go under it. His size made that easier said than done, though, and he bumped against it, causing the hammer to rattle dangerously.

"Well, that's seven years' bad luck for you," Fen said, "walking under a ladder like that."

"Aw, c'mon, that's just a superstition," Joss protested.

"Hey, your bad luck almost started right there. Another inch and that hammer would have fallen square on your head."

"You know, there's something to that," Alys said.

"You don't mean the superstition, do you?"

"Sure. Here's what I'm getting at: if there's a ladder standing around where someone can walk under it, there's usually a reason. Someone might be up on it with a bucket of paint, for example, which could spill on a person going underneath."

"Oh, I see what you mean. It's like if you open an umbrella indoors, you probably don't intend to use it inside, so you'd have to carry it outside, and they don't fit very well through doors and could easily break," Fen warmed to the theme.

"Right, or breaking a mirror. If it's just cracked, that's one thing, but if it's really shattered, that means bits of silvered glass getting everywhere, and it's hard to clean up every single piece of broken glass. You might step on one or brush it with a hand and get a nasty cut. So that's three things where it makes complete sense to call them unlucky, because the natural consequence of doing them is likely to be unfortunate. That isn't superstition, it's just common sense."

"Like what almost happened to Joss."

"You really shouldn't have left that hammer up there, Garn," Alys agreed. "It's just too risky. A head injury won't do Joss any harm, but the next person might have wits to scramble."

"You're right," Garn said, setting her drink down in front of her. "I'll grab it now."

"I'll get it for you!" Joss sprang off the barstool he'd secured during the discussion, eager to respond to Alys's suggestion. Unfortunately for him, he was too busy looking back at her to bask in her approval to watch where he was going.

Once again, he avoided being hit by the hammer. He didn't really have to, since he walked full-on into the ladder, got his feet tangled in the rungs, and went down in a heap. His head cracked off the floor, and the top of the ladder took him across the bridge of the nose just for good measure.

"I know its bad luck to walk under a ladder," Fenris remarked, "but I don't think walking _through_ one is the best way to avoid that."

~X X X~

_A/N: Really, the only reason I don't write more of these stories is that it takes energy to find new and creative ways for Joss to hurt himself. Alys and Fen's discussion about bad-luck superstitions is something I realized a decade or so ago, probably while I was trying to walk in from the rain without furling my umbrella and nearly got it caught in the door._


	21. The Hunter Has the Scent

**Omake Week 2014, Day 2:** _My short drabbles about Alys and Joss were the first omake series I ever wrote, even before I knew of the word "omake," so it's pretty inevitable that there would be a story with them for something I'm calling "omake week"!_

~X X X~

"And that's pretty much all there is to it," Alys Brangwin told her friend Fenris. "You need to turn over your wrist at the point of release. If you use your elbow, the throw will start turning back to you short of where you want it to go, and you'll never hit the third target. Here, watch."

She flicked open the blade of her slasher, then turned towards the baked-clay practice dummies at the other end of the target range and whipped her arm across in a backhand arc. The boomerang-like weapon shot out spinning, its blades sending out a spray of fragments as they tore across the front of three targets, then sailed back to Alys. She caught it by the central handle in a practiced motion, then closed the blades and sheathed the weapon.

"Hmm, I'm not sure that I quite see…"

Fenris held out her arm, moving it slowly through the path it would take to throw a slasher, trying to duplicate Alys's movements.

"No, it's like this," Alys said, then took hold of Fenris's wrist and upper arm, moving the limb through the throwing motion and turning it at the appropriate points.

"Oh, I think I get it."

"It's been a while since you've had a lesson in how to use a weapon, I'm guessing?"

"I wouldn't say that." The redhead smirked at Alys and added, "Jason's been giving me pretty regular lessons on how to use his sword."

Alys groaned.

"I should smack you for that one, Fen. Rubbing your good luck with romance in the face of someone who's trying to help you is a pretty low blow."

"Oh, come on, Alys. You're gorgeous, you're smart, and you're a famous hero. You could have your pick of nearly anybody you wanted."

A loud bellow rose up from the far side of the practice grounds.

"Hey, Alys!"

"You were saying, Fen?"

Joss Howland, veteran hunter, genial idiot, and walking example of Alys Brangwin's bad luck with love, swaggered towards the two women.

"Good afternoon, ladies."

"Afternoon," Alys replied, specifically omitting the word "good." She really preferred not to tell bald-faced lies if she could avoid it.

"Hi, Joss," Fenris chirped. She got along better with Joss than Alys did, probably because Joss's crush wasn't on her. Almost immediately after, though, she sniffed at the air. "Do either of you smell that?"

"Come to think of it, yeah, I do," Alys said. It was a sour, thick odor, one that Alys vaguely remembered smelling before. She crinkled up her nose. "What _is_ that? I can't quite place it." Context was the problem; wherever she'd smelled it before was definitely somewhere else, not the practice ground and probably not even in the city of Aiedo.

Joss gave her a broad smile.

"It's the aroma of love, baby."

Fenris pinched her nose.

"More like the aroma of spoiled cheese."

Alys, meanwhile, took a second look as Joss. It was her general policy not to examine him too closely (which was really too bad, given that looking decorative was by far his best attribute), but on this occasion she realized she'd missed something on first glance: his face, and the portions of exposed skin his outfit showed on his arms and torso, were slick and shiny as if rubbed with some kind of oil.

"That stink is you? What have you got all over yourself?"

"You ever hear of pheromones?"

"No."

His smug look increased, driven by the rare occasion for him to tell Alys something she didn't know.

"It's the latest thing they're researching in Piata. They're the chemicals our bodies give off, letting other people know that we're an attractive mate."

"So you…doused yourself in those things?"

"Exactly! What Roth did was to distill down the all-natural pheromonal scents into an oil that's guaranteed to make a man desirable and appealing. It's nature's own love potion!"

Alys glanced at Fenris.

"Are you finding him any more desirable?"

"No, I can't say that I am."

"Good. I'm not, either, and I'd hoped that didn't mean something was wrong with my pheromone-sniffing glands or whatever."

Joss looked at them in confusion.

"Wait, you mean that you two aren't feeling anything?"

Alys shrugged.

"Mild nausea at the smell, maybe. What did Roth use to make that stuff, anyway? He's a snake-oil salesman, but at least his goop usually doesn't put you off your lunch."

Joss's sense of dramatic timing being as impeccable as ever, Alys got her answer almost immediately. There was a low rumbling, and then from out of the dunes and scrubby bushes popped several caterpillar-like creatures about eight feet long, colored green with yellow bellies, waving their two front pairs of legs in the air, faceted eyes gleaming.

"Carrion crawlers?" Fenris yelped. Unlike their desert-dwelling orange cousins, carrion crawlers typically haunted the moist, dark passages of caves and underground tunnels. Apparently, though, they had reason to leave that natural habitat.

"That makes sense. After all, Roth probably doesn't have a room where Parmanian or Motavian men are sweating out these pheromones so he can bottle them. He needed another source. Crawler musk counts as 'all-natural,' after all."

Joss might not have been the brightest egg in the basket, but even if his reasoning brain was still several steps behind Alys's deduction his survival instinct was working fine. He turned and bolted for the city walls, hotly pursued by a swarm of crawler ladies whose scent organs were insisting that they'd found their dream man. Several of them spat the sticky threads they used to paralyze their prey in his general direction.

"I didn't realize that crawlers were into the kinky stuff," Fenris mused. "Do you think we should help him?"

"Who are we to interfere with the course of true love?"


	22. Wood You Look at That

It had been a hard day, and Alys Brangwin, Motavia's most celebrated hunter, was looking forward to a convivial dinner and a drink or two with friends at the Hunter's Guild bar. Unfortunately, her hopes were dashed almost immediately by a sign reading "Closed for Repairs" hanging next to the swinging doors. Curious despite her disappointment, she walked over and looked inside.

"Hey, Garn," she called to the owner, who was overseeing the efforts of two workers. "Installing new wooden floors, I see."

"Oh, hi, Alys. Yeah, I thought it would give the place a bit more of a touch of class. Stone's easy to clean, but it looks, I don't know, kind of rough and cheap, I guess you could say?"

"Plus it hurts more if somebody gets knocked down or passes out onto stone," Alys noted. "Someone could get seriously injured one of these days cracking his or her skull off the floor."

Just then, they were interrupted by a booming voice from just behind them.

"Whoa, looks like my lucky day. The place is closed, but you're still here, Alys!"

Contrary to what one might think, Joss Howland was not an example of what happens when one suffers too many head injuries, but had always been a bad example for trying to convince people that hunters weren't just big, dumb brutes.

"My luck today seems to be consistent, at least," Alys groused.

"I was hoping to be open for business tonight," Garn said, "but some of the boards were cracked and had to be re-cut. I'm not surprised; when you consider the price of wood on this planet any supply I could afford is going to have a few problems."

"Well, it's not a problem for us," Joss said. "What do you say, Alys? Why don't we take this as an omen and go grab ourselves some dinner, just you and me?"

"I would genuinely prefer to date that palm-spider that's crawling by your foot."

"Wha—?" Joss yelped.

Garn sighed.

"There was a nest of those, too," he said. "It took the better part of an hour to clear them out. A couple got away, though."

Joss yanked his foot away from the inch-wide arachnid. Though not lethal or even seriously debilitating, their poison was nastily painful and notable because in addition to the injury, it also had an intoxicating effect on its victim for the first couple of hours.

(A cynic might observe that a bar owner had good reason to keep them out of his establishment, since they were giving away for free a three-drink buzz.)

Joss, though, had not been a cynic about palm-spiders since the day he'd accidentally stuck his face into a nest of them two years previously. He hopped back out of the way, then raised one huge foot and brought it down like a sledgehammer blow, flattening the rogue spider across the end of one board.

However, since the board had not yet been nailed down, its other end snapped up, the underlying crossbeam acting as a fulcrum, and hit Joss squarely in the face. Any possible teaching moment about the use of a lever to redirect force was lost when the impact of the blow knocked him over and the back of his head hitting the floor finished the job while demonstrating that wood wasn't really all that much softer on a practical basis.

"It's a rare man that can find a way to pass out in a bar that isn't even open," Alys observed.


End file.
